Last Chance
by Swinging Cloud
Summary: Fill for the GKM. "It's a strange sort of roleplay- they're both comfortable with themselves and their relationship, and so, so in love- but at the same time, it feels so good to cheat and pretend for a moment that this isn't breaking their rules." Brittana. Lapdance smut. SUMOSMU #4 already!


**Title:** Last Chance

**Summary:** Fill for the GKM. "It's a strange sort of roleplay- they're both comfortable with themselves and their relationship, and so, so in love- but at the same time, it feels so good to cheat and pretend for a moment that this isn't breaking their rules." Brittana. Lapdance smut. SUMOSMU #4 already?!

**Warning:** This is a smutty story about Brittana basically humping each other to music, and contains strap-on sex. Get some.

**A/N:** Hi again. :) It's Wanky Wednesday, so. You know. Here's a thing. I had a different prompt I originally wanted to fill this week, but, you know, DOMA and everything, so I figured why not throw some future!Brittana in to celebrate? Yeah, okay. :D?

This story is dedicated to my dear **crammit** (where are you, bb?) because she likes the fluffy stuff. She also writes brilliant smut, so if you still aren't satisfied after this (and even if you _are_) and want more future!Brittana love and feelings, you should totally check out her ~Sweetest series, or really _any_ of her stories, because she's pretty much the greatest.

Also, thanks to everyone who's been reading and following the SUMMER OF SMUT! Ya'll are awesome! :D

Happy reading! 8)~

* * *

"Jus' onneeeeee dance," Rachel slurs. "Jus' _one_. It's your las' chance t'get one, Santa- Santannuh."

Santana cringes at how completely shitfaced Rachel is, swaying beside her on her feet. It's not even _eleven_ yet, and most of her friends are totally wallpapered. Isn't _she_ supposed to be the wasted one? For fuck's sake, it's _her_ _party_.

She casts a longing glance across the high-end strip club, her gaze falling on many, many of her friends milling around conversing, and lands on one person in particular. The only person who matters- the only person she really wants to see. Everything in her aches to cross the club and talk to her, but for whatever reason, they had set _rules_.

"How can we enjoy our bachelorette party if we're standing over each other, San?" her fiancée's playful words echo in her mind.

"But I don't want to be with anyone else," she had whined in response.

Thinking back on it, she admits she kind of sounded like a clingy bitch, but can anyone blame her? She's engaged to the most beautiful woman in the world- a woman who insisted they remain _celibate_ for the past two weeks.

Santana rolls her eyes- originally her fiancée had wanted a _month_.

"Yeah, right," Quinn had scoffed when Santana had complained to her about her problems. "The way you two go at it? I'd be surprised if you last a _week_, never mind a month."

And, okay, Quinn had been right. It hadn't been easy. Many nights ended in frustration, as lying in bed together in such close proximity- to do nothing but _sleep_- proved excruciating. Their gentle, good night kisses transformed into heated make-out sessions, which turned into their hands wandering and ended in them separating reluctantly, arousal pounding through their bodies. Sometimes Santana would relocate to the guest room, if only just to finish herself off and help ease the tension. She just simply wasn't used to not being able to have her fiancée whenever she wanted- that hadn't been an issue since high school, for fuck's sake.

But Santana was determined to make all her future wife's wishes come true, so she'd gritted her teeth and now here they are- they'd passed the two week mark, and Santana was feeling the effects of her sexual frustration course through her. There's only so much her hand could help her with, after all. The point of the celibacy was to make their honeymoon more _special_- but if she was being honest with herself, she couldn't picture a honeymoon with her fiancée being any more special than it already would be with her there.

Rolling her eyes again at her own cheesiness, she takes a sip at her drink, which is empty- how is she still sober? She brings her glass up to her lips and crunches on a piece of ice instead, still staring at her fiancée, who is talking to a blonde stripper across the room.

It had been Kurt's idea to have both of their parties at the _same_ strip club at the _same time_, and Santana had to admit, it was kind of genius, but mostly stupid. Being so close to her sexy partner was not helping her sexual frustration. She had always been a jealous person, but years of being with the woman she loved and trusted had made all of her insecurities fade away a long time ago. She wasn't jealous, per se- just deprived.

"-even _pay_ for't, if you're sssssoooo worried about money," Rachel continues on, and Santana suddenly wonders if the tiny brunette had been talking the entire time she'd been buried in her thoughts.

She shakes her head pityingly as Rachel sets a very heavy hand- and leans almost all of her weight- on her shoulder, her head wobbling, her eyes droopy and unfocused, a stupid, huge grin plastered on her face. Annoyance, but mostly concerned affection, spikes through her blood. "Dwarf, how many have you _had_?" Santana furrows her eyebrows in distress, but mostly out of concern for her designer outfit. Rachel's standing so close to her, if she throws up-

"Five! No…" Rachel looks troubled as she holds up three fingers, staring at them in confusion. "Not tha' many. Homany my holdin' up?"

"Seven."

Rachel scoffs sloppily, sending spit flying from her mouth. Santana frowns in disgust, subtly reaching up to wipe at her cheek where she's sure a few drops must have landed. "I din't have _that_ many," Rachel protests. She nods hugely, as if the gesture will prove her statement, as if that's all the reassurance Santana should need. "I had a cooouupllle shots, though…"

_Oh, lord._ "Well, maybe you should slow-"

"And mayyyybe _you_ should stop being such a stick-in-the-tub at your _own party_!" Rachel practically shouts. Then, as if she suddenly just remembered something extremely important, she grabs Santana's wrist tightly, her expression grave and serious as she says, "You shoul' get a _dance_."

Santana rolls her eyes again. "I already told you-"

"Ladies," Kurt greets as he strolls up, holding a martini glass containing something bright green, and despite his rosy cheeks, Santana can tell he's got far more of his wits about him than the third leg of their little tripod. He looks charming and also, in Santana's opinion, slightly grotesque in his suit and ascot, but Santana couldn't talk him out of his outfit- not even for tonight. "What's the good news?"

"Santaaaaana won't le' me buy her a _lapdance_," Rachel says, bringing her hand up to her face as if she's telling Kurt a secret, but she pokes herself in the eye in the process and cringes. A splash of the purple liquid in her glass sloshes out to land on her forearm, but she doesn't seem to notice or feel it. Santana subconsciously takes a small step away as Rachel continues, "not even at her bachelorette party."

Kurt tilts his head in surprise, mouth falling open and eyes widening. "Satan!" he chides. "It's your _last chance_-"

"Yes, thank you; I'm quite aware tonight is my last opportunity to get a sleazy, half-dressed, mediocre-featured slut that I have zero interest in to grind her lady parts against me, and as absolutely _rousing_ as that sounds, I actually had something else in mind that I was wondering if you could help me with. That is, if you're done pressuring me into being a hump-toy for someone who's probably seen more STIs than a Planned Parenthood clinic."

"Santana!" Rachel exclaims, looking scandalized. "This is a _high end_ strip club."

Kurt giggles, but his interest has been piqued. Despite her claim at being mock offended, Rachel leans in, still swaying on the spot, as Santana reluctantly sighs and tells them her plan.

She'd waited two weeks. She'd had about enough of the _rules_.

And she thinks she might have found a way around them.

* * *

Santana peeks out from behind the backstage curtain, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. When the eccentric DJ announces a _special dance for one lucky woman,_ she can't stop the grin from sliding onto her face. She can't wait to surprise her fiancée. And from the looks of it from backstage- she's going to be _very_ surprised.

The lights dim, and the opening notes of her chosen song (okay, so whatever, she's got a fondness for the 90s, leave her alone) play. She takes another deep breath, closing her eyes and letting the beat of the song pour into her and fill her with the slow, sensual rhythm before slinking through the part in the curtain and making her way onto the stage.

As the intro plays, she walks slowly through the shadows, swaying her hips, making sure her steps are sure, her bare legs accentuated. Her tall heels make her calves look _fabulous_, and she quickly finds her fiancée, who's sitting- fidgeting- before her in a chair, looking nervous and a little uncomfortable.

She smirks. _They didn't tell her it was _me_._

When she finally clears the shadows to stand under the cool lights, she hears some low catcalls from her friends, and blue eyes finally rise to lock with her own.

Santana can't help but smirk at the completely floored expression on Brittany's face as she recognizes her on stage, despite her costume and dramatic make-up. They regard each other for a moment before Santana sees the realization slowly dawn across Brittany's features.

_Mmhm, that's right_, she thinks sassily. _You're about to get a lapdance._

Blue eyes darken and Santana doesn't waste another second as the song begins to pick up. She has plenty of time- it's a four minute song- so she decides to work it for all she's worth. She brings her hands up to tangle in her hair, and just sways her hips, enjoying the way Brittany devours her with her eyes like she's starving for a glimpse of her tan skin. Santana's dressed in a very short dress made of some kind of thin, silky material, and looks more like a nightie than an actual dress, but she doesn't care all that much.

She's not going to be wearing it for very long, anyways.

She teases Brittany with it- sliding hands up her bare thighs, lifting at the hem just enough to _not show her anything_, and her heart pounds at the way Brittany's biting at her lower lip, at the way Brittany leans forward a little in her seat, watching her with rapt attention.

_Can't ever keep from falling apart at the seams  
__Can I believe you're taking my heart to pieces_

Santana reaches above and behind her and grabs the stripper pole, using it to balance her as she sinks slowly, sensually to her knees, keeping her legs parted as she moans sharply when the song does. She thrusts her hips up into the air, still holding the pole above her head, very aware that she's giving all of her friends a free show. But she doesn't care- she wants them to know how sexy she is, and that _all_ of her belongs to _Brittany_. She doesn't take her eyes from Brittany's face as she tugs her dress up higher and off, finally exposing the lacy lingerie set she's wearing (what? She's not giving _that_ much of a free show) and seeing Brittany's breath noticeably hitch.

She continues to run her hands up and down her own body, rocking her hips against the air, tugging at the skimpy clothes she's wearing and tangling fingers in her dark locks that fall loosely over her bare shoulders. She rises back up, licking her lips, and sees the action mirrored as Brittany does the same. She moves closer to her fiancée, swaying her hips as sensually as possible as she steps from the stage, until she's standing within arm's reach. She can see the tension in Brittany's jaw, in Brittany's forearms as she clenches her fists on her thighs, clutching at the material of her dress.

_Who do you need?  
__Who do you love?  
__When you come undone_

Santana smiles slyly before reaching over Brittany's shoulder to grip the back of her chair and then mounting her lap with a sexy sway of her hips. Brittany inhales sharply at the action, and Santana doesn't resist the urge to drop down and grind her hips against Brittany. She rolls her body, pressing her breasts against Brittany and rubbing them over hers, making her groan low in her throat.

Santana reaches up to tangle fingers in Brittany's hair, tugging her head back slightly to bring their eyes together, and she feels her body throb at the dark, lustful look in Brittany's hooded gaze as she continues to work her lap like she's an actual stripper.

"Ungh- San-" Brittany gasps, barely audible over the blaring of Duran Duran. Santana knows Brittany's dying to touch her- but won't. Fluidly, she reverses her position, so that she's practically sitting in Brittany's lap, and she presses her ass back into Brittany's crotch, then sways her hips. The sharp gasp Brittany emits sends another jolt of arousal straight between Santana's legs, and she grinds back harder, knowing she's pushing right against Brittany's clit- if the way Brittany is bucking up against her is any indication.

Santana leans back, letting her back lay against Brittany's front. She tilts her head to rest on Brittany's shoulder and reaches up behind her to grip the back of Brittany's head, letting her fingers tighten in blonde hair before she rolls her whole body against the one beneath her. Brittany's breathing is ragged and sharp in her ear as she continually grinds back into her. Teasingly, she lets a small moan slip from her throat at a particularly rough thrust from Brittany beneath her, and she knows her fiancée is going crazy.

By the time the second chorus starts, Brittany's a trembling mess, and especially when Santana whispers a few choice lyrics in her ear, punctuated with a quick, teasing swipe of her tongue just below it. The second Brittany's control snaps and she reaches to grab Santana's hips, though, Santana pulls away, and, with her back still facing Brittany, she lowers into a full split. Wolf whistles and claps reverberate around her, reminding her that their friends are still watching, and she smirks over her bare shoulder, tossing her hair sexily as Brittany visibly swallows, her hands twitching by her sides. She looks about five seconds away from lunging from her chair and taking Santana right there on the floor in front of _everyone_, and Santana can't help the pulsing in her body at the thought. She needs to wrap this up before she loses control, herself.

She rolls to all fours, arching her back, giving Brittany an amazing view of her firm ass in her lingerie, and doesn't miss the low growl that rumbles up from Brittany's chest. She looks at Brittany over her shoulder again, letting her hair spill messily over her back and forehead, and finally she rises to her feet as the song goes into its last chorus.

She straddles Brittany's lap once more, but stays standing, so that her breasts are pressed to Brittany's face, and her crotch to Brittany's stomach. She thrusts her hips, raking her nails across Brittany's scalp, and breathes the final words to the song in Brittany's ear as the song fades.

_Who do you need?  
__Who do you love?  
__When you come undone_

Clapping and drunken cheering greets them as the DJ comes back on the mic to talk about _what a steamy performance that was! _and Santana extricates herself from Brittany's lap. Brittany grips her wrist, her eyes dark and smoldering, and tugs her close, tilting her head up for a kiss.

Smirking, Santana leans down and presses a chaste peck to the corner of her mouth. "See you at the altar, babe," she breathes huskily before darting her tongue out to lick beneath Brittany's ear again, and before Brittany can even react, she straightens up and throws her hair over her shoulder with a sexy toss of her head. Then she turns on her heel and struts, hips still swaying, to the backstage area to change as more wolf whistles and catcalls rise up at her exit.

* * *

Santana's not surprised when, less than an hour later, she finds herself in a secluded VIP booth of the club, alone and sitting on the immaculate red leather couch, bathed in the cool-colored glow of the accent lights. Kurt had led her there with a knowing grin, claiming that Rachel had refused to stop drinking unless she got to buy Santana a lapdance, and he just really couldn't deal with her projectile vomiting on his new shoes.

They both pretended like they didn't know what was going on, but they both knew. Santana had anticipated Brittany's reaction to her performance, and she smiles to herself, repositioning on the couch as the opening notes to an Usher song start to play; she bites her lip in anticipation. She's still soaking wet from basically humping Brittany's lap earlier, and she only hopes she doesn't embarrass herself by coming the moment Brittany does the same to her- it _has_ been over two weeks, after all.

_At least it'll happen _now_ and not on the honeymoon_, she muses, and then her mind goes blank as Brittany enters the room, her steps exuding confidence and sexual power. Her energy is tense and frustrated, and Santana knows it's a result of the teasing she did earlier. Her eyes rake over Brittany's form as the song builds, drinking in her appearance. Brittany's wearing tiny shorts, heels, an off-the-shoulder shirt, and a flat-brimmed baseball cap, which she tugs off and tosses into Santana's lap the second Usher says _heyyyy, girl_ and then Brittany's immediately jumping into a carnal, improvised hip-hop dance, popping and rolling her body and then sloooowing her moves down with the way Usher drags out his words.

Santana puts the cap on, giving Brittany a sly grin and noticing the way her blue eyes darken further at her action. Brittany drops into a bouncing split almost immediately, and Santana feels her throat go dry and she swallows. Brittany's eyebrow raises and Santana knows what she's saying without words; _payback's a bitch._

_ She say she wants to take her skirt off- be my guest  
__I decided to take my shirt off- and show my chest_

At the lyrics, Brittany tugs her shirt off sexily, without any preamble, and tosses it at Santana while she jerks her head, jerks her hips. Santana's momentarily dazed at the very sudden appearance of Brittany's defined abs, made even more defined by the way she twists and rolls her body to the beat. Brittany's firm breasts are on full display, her nipples already hard with arousal, and Santana wishes she'd come closer so she could bite at them. She's completely mesmerized by the glow of Brittany's pale skin under the low lights, by the way her breasts bounce with her movements, and all she wants is to feel her strong legs wrapped around her while she pounds between them. She can't help the groan in her throat at the thought. Her entire body is aching, throbbing- and Brittany hasn't even touched her yet. It's the most delicious torture she's ever endured as Brittany continues to taunt her with the sway of her hips, with the hardness of her nipples.

Brittany cups her mouth and rolls her shoulders when Usher says, _hollerin' 'bout what you gon' do to me_ and by the time the second chorus starts, Brittany's right in front of her, lifting her right leg up to plant her heel firmly on the left side of Santana's hips, and falling to her left knee on the other side. Brittany's legs are spread wide right before her face, and Santana can't help but feel overwhelmed as Brittany aggressively tugs the cap from her, tossing it across the room before gripping her hair, pulling it briefly and riling Santana up further. When Usher says, _hands-on when you're with me_ Brittany guides Santana's hands up and places them on her ass, and Santana moans and squeezes as Brittany rolls her hips slowly, inches from her face. Santana can smell Brittany's arousal, and she wishes more than anything she could just rip Brittany's shorts off and bury her tongue in her fiancée. She moans openly, wanting Brittany to know how much she wants her, how much she wants to feel her in her mouth.

She settles, instead, for turning her head and nipping teasingly at Brittany's inner thigh, only getting a brief taste of the creamy skin before it's Brittany's turn to pull away, and she does- but only slightly, dropping down into Santana's lap and grinding hard against her-

Santana smirks when Brittany's head snaps up and their eyes lock. Brittany's blue eyes are almost completely black with desire- her mouth is parted and she's breathing harshly, and Santana knows Brittany well enough to know it has _nothing_ to do with her enthusiastic performance. Brittany rolls her hips again in question, and Santana moans in answer as Brittany's hips push down on the strap-on hidden beneath her skirt, pressing it against _her_ as a result.

"Fuck," Brittany curses once she confirms that Santana is, in fact, _packing_, and she doesn't hesitate to grind against the firm object, moaning as she gets some of the friction she's been craving all night.

_You've been saying all night long  
__That you couldn't wait to get me home alone_

Santana's panting; each time Brittany rocks her hips, she gets a jolt of pleasure as the strap-on rubs against her swollen, throbbing clit. She knows that if they continue to do this, they're both going to come before they can even touch each other. She's vaguely aware of Rick Ross in the background as Brittany leans forward, trapping Santana with her arms on either side of her, hands gripping the back of the couch harshly as she desperately rides her lap, whimpering.

Santana gasps sharply at a particularly hard thrust, and when Brittany tilts to suck at the base of her neck, she feels that much closer to her release. She closes her eyes hard and drives her hips up, making Brittany cry out as the toy hits her in just the right spot. She struggles not to reach up and tug on Brittany's stiff nipples, which are brushing against her own, even through the fabric of her shirt. She hadn't worn a bra in preparation for what she'd hoped was going to happen, and her own nipples are almost painfully hard from arousal as Brittany grinds against her.

"_Fuck_, Santana, I want you so _much_," Brittany pants against her ear, still working her hips.

"_Lemme see_," Santana teases, though she's completely breathless from Brittany riding her lap, pressed so close to her.

Brittany pauses, running a hand through her straight, blonde hair to pull it off her face, and then she hops off Santana's lap fluidly, twirling and dropping into another split at the explosive sound effect that accompanies Rick Ross's, _I let her meet my tongue, she blow up like a bomb._

Once she's back on her feet, Brittany kicks off her heels and shimmies out of her shorts. Santana bites her lip at the fact that Brittany wasn't wearing any underwear, and wonders if Brittany had pre-planned to give _her_ a lapdance, even if Santana hadn't given her one. She certainly _seems_ prepared enough, and Santana can't help but feel her heart flutter at the fact that they are both always on the same page. Her thoughts fly out the window, however, when Brittany's shorts finally hit the ground and she gets her first glimpse of Brittany's glistening sex. Even under the low lights, Santana can see the wetness, the evidence of Brittany's arousal- it's smeared all over her pale inner thighs, and Santana struggles to breath; her entire body is trembling with desire.

Brittany bites her lip but doesn't bother to stifle a moan as she reaches down between her legs and strokes two fingers through her soaked folds, and Santana moans with her, especially when Brittany steps forward and aggressively pushes her wet fingers into Santana's hot, eager mouth.

Santana doesn't hesitate- she immediately sucks on Brittany's fingers hard, taking them deep and stroking and swirling her tongue around the length of them. When she grazes her teeth on the tips, Brittany pulls her fingers out and replaces them with her mouth, and _finally_ they're kissing. It's sloppy and frenzied; they are both too worked up to take it slow. Brittany sucks on Santana's tongue, Santana rakes her teeth over Brittany's bottom lip, and they both hold each other's faces, too afraid to touch each other and come early. Brittany fumbles to push Santana's skirt up- to free the strap-on- before she finally climbs onto Santana's lap and feels the dildo press against her aching sex.

"Touch me," Brittany begs, sliding easily against the length of the dildo, coating it with her arousal.

"Britt, what about-?"

"I _want_ you to _touch me_," she insists, pushing her hips down sharply.

And since Santana is determined to make all her future wife's wishes come true, she reaches up and palms Brittany's breasts, squeezing them roughly, and watching as Brittany arches against her, throwing her head back in pleasure and moaning, her blue eyes squeezed shut, her mouth dropping open.

"_Yes_."

Santana feels her clit throb at the throaty moan Brittany releases, and she leans forward to suck at Brittany's collarbone in response.

So much for rules.

Santana gives a mental shrug. _Eh well_. They were never traditional anyway, not by anyone's standards. And bachelor parties- or bachelorette parties- aren't necessarily an excuse to cheat on someone's partner, but if she's going to cheat on Brittany, she might as well cheat on Brittany _with Brittany_. _Okay, now I'm just confusing myself._ Santana knows that there's no one else, no other girl she'd rather have than the beautiful woman she's pushing down onto the red leather couch to lie on her back. Her fiancée stares up at her with dark, lust-filled eyes, parting her thighs, inviting Santana to take what's hers.

Again, Santana doesn't hesitate; she drives her hips forward, entering Brittany completely with one steady thrust. She watches Brittany's face contort with pleasure as each inch pushes inside her. Brittany's tight around the dildo, but not uncomfortably so, and she's so slick and wet that it slips in relatively easily. Brittany cries out wantonly with pleasure when Santana's hips finally press flush to hers and she bottoms out inside of her. She reaches up to tug at Santana's face, then hooks a leg over Santana's hip as Santana starts up a quick rhythm inside her. It's been _weeks_ and Brittany clenches hard, gripping at the dildo when Santana pulls out and loving the feelings of bliss it gives her.

Santana feels Brittany's hands slip under her shirt, pushing it up just high enough to expose her breasts. She hisses, her hips bucking forward harder as Brittany rolls her stiff nipples between her long fingers, sending shocks of pleasure shooting through her. She's still wearing most of her clothes, but she doesn't care; this isn't slow and sensual, it's a quick fuck- the way it _should_ be at a club. Technically, they're breaking their celibacy code- but Santana wonders if they _are_, really. People go to clubs in the hopes of finding a quick fuck- which is kind of exactly what they've done. Instead of meeting a stranger, though, they just used each other. Santana knows that she could never want anyone else, knows Brittany feels the same, and that they would never, ever cheat on each other; and the knowledge only reaffirms the fact that this- their decision to get _married_- is exactly what they both want with all of their hearts. So while _some_ people may show up to receive a dance from a stranger, Santana received a dance from someone she won't feel uncomfortable about afterwards, someone she actually _wanted_ a dance from.

It's a strange sort of roleplay- they're both comfortable with themselves and their relationship, and so, so in love, and very aware of the gravity of their situation- but at the same time, it feels so good to cheat and pretend for a moment that this _isn't_ breaking their rules. To pretend that each other are strangers (as if Santana could forget that she's buried between _Brittany's_ legs; as if she'd want to be buried between anyone else but _Brittany's _legs) and just let their desires unfold.

So as Brittany's cries grow louder and more desperate with each thrust, Santana slides her arms under Brittany's shoulders and uses it as leverage to pound into her harder. The angle gives her clit more friction, and in an effort to slow down the speed of her approaching orgasm (as if she could- she'd have better luck standing on railroad tracks and asking a train politely to _stop_) she slows her thrusts and rotates her hips, doing figure eights inside Brittany, and she feels every muscle on the quivering girl beneath her tighten in response.

Brittany moans her name- _loudly_. Santana wouldn't be surprised if everyone in the club knows she's fucking her. _As if they didn't already._ She smirks and lowers her head to suck at a freckle near Brittany's shoulder, still pumping her hips. Brittany's thighs tighten around her, Brittany's nails drag up her back before tangling in her hair, before pulling roughly on it. Her cries grow even louder the closer she gets to her release as she writhes, and Santana finds herself at the edge in response, hard-pressed to keep her own orgasm at bay.

"Fuck- Britt- I'm gonna-"

"_Yeah,_" Brittany cuts off, moaning louder than ever, giving Santana permission to come. It sends a throb straight to Santana's clit, and she shudders. "Santana- oh, god- fuck, _youfeelsogood_," she pants out, wantonly pushing her hips up in time to Santana's thrusts. Santana pumps her hips until Brittany's frantically screaming her name, over and over and _over_, and now she _knows_ the whole club can hear.

"Santana, yeah! Oh fuck, Santana, fuck- Santana- _Santana_- god-"

The sound of her name tumbling breathlessly from Brittany's lips, raw from Brittany's throat, reverberates through her until she snaps, jerking her hips forward erratically as her orgasm crashes through her. She struggles to keep her eyes open, to watch Brittany's flushed face, to watch the way Brittany's shaking, squirming beneath her. It intensifies her release, and she feels like she is going to tear apart.

"That's it, baby, _yeah_," Brittany soothes lovingly, still very much on the edge, but reveling in Santana's violent orgasm above her. "God, you look so hot. _So_ fucking hot," she rambles, still thrusting her hips up desperately. "Give it to me, _fuck me_, baby-"

Using Brittany's words as encouragement, Santana works through her orgasm and pushes herself up to her palms, gazing down into Brittany's eyes; she takes a huge gulp of air and drives her hips hard, fucking Brittany with renewed vigor. She reaches down with her left hand and rolls her fingers firmly on Brittany's clit, and Brittany's screaming beneath her seconds later, her body lifting into a perfect, taut arch as she shakes- loud, breathless moans spilling from her open mouth as the waves of pleasure wrack her body.

"Oh, god-" Brittany whimpers as she collapses, sweaty, to the couch. She gasps for air, and Santana presses gentle kisses to her face as she comes down, still moving slowly inside her to drag out the pleasure. Once she catches her breath, Santana kisses her deeply for long moments before she pulls out and away, giving Brittany a chance to cool off for a moment. She helps Brittany into a sitting position, and Brittany rests her head on her shoulder for a long moment as they both just breathe, lost in their post-orgasmic bliss, and the knowledge that this is the last time they will be together before they're _married_.

Brittany presses a kiss to her cheek and stands on shaky legs, silently moving to gather her discarded clothes. She bends to pick up her shorts, and the sight of her bare ass and still-slick, swollen folds sets Santana on edge again. She stands quickly and grips Brittany's hips, reaching down to guide the head of the dildo to Brittany's entrance, stroking her teasingly. Brittany shivers.

"San-" she pants, and Santana pushes forward, watching the dildo part Brittany's folds, watching as each inch disappears inside her until their hips are pressed flush again. She leans forward and bites at Brittany's shoulder, and Brittany moans, reaching forward to grip tightly at the stripper pole in the center of the room with both hands. Brittany widens her stance as Santana wraps arms intimately around her stomach, holding her close, and rocks her hips up.

Brittany presses her forehead to the cold metal of the stripper pole clutched between her fists as Santana picks up her thrusting. It won't take long for her to come again- especially not now that she can feel Santana's fingers on her clit, stroking, building her up quickly. She struggles not to collapse as she nears the edge.

"God, you just looked so beautiful," Santana breathes against the back of her neck. "I had to have you again, baby."

Brittany shivers, feeling her legs go weak. Her grip on the pole and Santana's tight grip around her waist are the only things holding her up as her orgasm nears.

"I can't wait until you're my wife," Santana continues, the sweet talk making Brittany's heart pound, making warmth flood her system. "I'm going to make _so_ much love to you, baby." Santana presses her lips to Brittany's back, kisses across her bare shoulder, across her skin. She hugs Brittany tighter, closer, buries her face in the crook of Brittany's neck from behind.

"I love you, Santana," Brittany gasps breathlessly. Then, "I'm close."

"Mm, I love you, too," Santana hums, also loving the way Brittany's clit throbs beneath her fingers. "Let go, baby, I've got you."

It only takes a few more thrusts before Brittany's shaking through another orgasm, and Santana tightens her grip, keeping Brittany standing against her as she falls apart, though much gentler than her previous orgasm.

Santana continues to press soft, loving kisses to Brittany's back as Brittany struggles to breathe before her. After long moments, Brittany shifts, releasing her death grip on the stripper pole, and Santana pulls out, earning a small moan of satisfaction from Brittany. She helps Brittany dress, and once they are both semi-presentable (as if it matters- _everyone_ heard them having sex) they stand there, holding each other, gazing into each other's eyes softly.

Brittany reaches up and strokes a lock of dark hair from Santana's face, carefully tucking it behind her ear, and smiles fondly, her blue eyes sparkling with happiness. "Friday," she whispers.

"Friday," Santana confirms with a sure, serious nod, and then her face splits into a grin, because who is she kidding? She's _ecstatic_, and when Brittany leans forward to kiss her dimple, she can't help but giggle like a kid, hugging Brittany to her tighter.

"San," Brittany starts, pulling back, a suddenly serious expression on her face. "I'm sorry I monopolized your whole bachelorette party. If you want," she says nervously, in a rare display of insecurity, "you can have another party without me, with real strippers, I mean, we have another night before-"

"BrittBritt," Santana says firmly, leaning forward to press a kiss to Brittany's lips and halting her ramble, "I can't imagine a more perfect party."

"Really?" Brittany asks, hopeful, her eyes shining, flattered and so in love it feels like she's going to explode any moment.

Santana nods, smiling the soft smile she only ever reserves for Brittany. "As Rachel seemed so _apt_ to inform me literally all night, it's my _last chance_," she says. "But she doesn't understand- my _last chance_ ended the day I fell in love with _you_, and realized that I could never want anyone else."

Brittany beams bashfully, her cheeks turning pink, her eyes reverent. "I love you, Santana."

Santana presses another kiss to Brittany's lips before answering, "I love you, too. Now let's get back to the party before everyone thinks we're fucking again." Brittany giggles, and they walk hand-in-hand to the doorway before Brittany turns to her with an adoring smile.

"Santana?"

"Yeah, B?"

"I'll see you at the altar."

* * *

**;_;**

**Remember when Brittana get married? No?**

**WELL SIT THE FUCK DOWN THEY ARE GONNA GET MARRIED, OKAY.**

**Sigh. Our poor shipper hearts.**

**Well, review if you feel like it, I suppose. If not, that's okay. :D**

**Also, remember to check the SUMOSMU tag on tumblr to keep up with all the sexy goodness! 8)~**

**AND NOW A WORD FROM ~OFFICER SAFETY:**

**Don't have sex in a strip club. It's skeezy, and crawling with disease. **

**In case you're wondering, Brittana and Co. rented out the entire club and everything was wiped down with a sanitized towel before sex was had on any surface, so Brittana are okay and were unharmed in the process of sexing. **

**But you? **

**If **_**you**_** have sex in a strip club, you **_**will**_** get Chlamydia. And die. **

**So just- don't, okay? Chlamydia is, fortunately, curable, but WHAT IF YOU GET HERPES? **

**Also, if you let a stripper rub her lady boner on you, it's probably a good idea not to touch that area of your clothes and then touch your face. That's how disease gets transferred, and I had a friend contract an STI that way. Not all strippers have diseases, just like not all raccoons have rabies. You just have to avoid the ones that are frothing at the mouth, is all.**

**Wait. What was I saying again?**

**Oh, right. **

**BE AS CAREFUL AS YOU WOULD DURING SEX WHEN ALLOWING SOMEONE'S GENITALS TO COME IN CONTACT WITH YOUR BOD. (because **_**herpes**_**.)**

**And that's all I have to say about that!**

**PLAY SAFE AND STAY SAFE. 8)~**

*****_Come Undone_ is property of Duran Duran and doesn't belong to me. Neither does _Lemme See_ by Usher. However if you'd like a listen, feel free to check the SUMOSMU tag~


End file.
